


Hunting for Business or Pleasure

by ladyofsilverdawn (ladyofSD)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Hermione Granger, Community: hp_creatures, Complete, Creature Fic, Creature Severus Snape, Dark Hermione Granger, Elves, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Grey Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger / Severus Snape if you squint, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Sexual Tension, Sexy Severus Snape, Sirens, Topping from the Bottom, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofSD/pseuds/ladyofsilverdawn
Summary: One day, Hermione fell down an unexpected rabbit hole and discovered a never-imagined world of secrets and myths. A decade later, she lives a life of monotony and little challenge, that is, until she’s tasked with using her siren abilities to hunt down Top Priority Suspect Rabastan Lestrange.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [articcat621](https://archiveofourown.org/users/articcat621/gifts).



> **Prompt:** 55  
>  **Creature:** Siren  
>  **Notes:** MyFirstistheFourth, you are a rockstar. ♥ Thank you, articcat621, for the prompt; I hope you enjoy. :) And mods, you’ve been wonderfully organised bringing this fest together. Thank you! 
> 
> Written for 2018 HP Creature Fest.

Thick smoke surrounds the trees of the Forbidden Forest like choking hands. With flames illuminating the already bright spring day, it's the Final Battle all over again.

Falling to my knees, I groan. My body feels as if it's just slammed into a wall of cement. "Harry, I can't Apparate!"

Harry echoes my sound of pain. "Same for me."

"How did they manage an Areal Anti-Disapparation Curse from such a distance?"

 _BOOM_!

Another wall of flames erupts behind us. Dammit! They're trying to smoke us out, and it's working.

Harry looks around frantically. "Hermione, how doesn't matter right now." He takes my hands, helping me to my feet. "Come on. We need to get out of here."

Feeling the intensifying heat behind us, we run.

We're closer to Hogsmeade than Hogwarts, so that's the direction we head in. As we manoeuvre through the forest, I don't risk looking over my shoulder for the five masked Death Eaters pursuing us. I know if I trip and hurt myself that Harry will put himself in danger to aid me. Merlin knows what they would do if they got their hands on him.

I nearly twist my ankle on a slippery stone, and Harry's newly earned Auror robes momentarily get stuck on a low-hanging branch, but we manage to reach the wizarding village without getting caught.

"Let's try again," I suggest, panting.

Harry nods.

This time after failing to Apparate, I find myself on my bum. Ugh! Fuck me, but do I feel dreadful…and foolish. It's like we're a pair of silly birds that can't learn and keep crashing into a windowpane. I turn and see Harry has also landed less than gracefully on the ground.

Harry stands and then violently dusts off his robes. "Fucking Merlin! We should be out of range by now."

While Harry surveys our rear for our pursuers, I crawl back to my feet. I raise my wand and concentrate. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

My otter Patronus swirls joyfully around us before it comes to a stop in front of me.

"Outnumbered. Need help. Hogsmeade." I picture Kingsley's face. The otter nods and then speeds away to relay my message.

Wiping the sweat from my face with my sleeve, I glare at the sky. "This is  _not_  what I had in mind when I said I wanted a diversion from my studies." I turn my glare on Harry. "I blame Ron and you, Harry, for putting the blasted idea in my head in the first place. I enjoyed being in my 'stuffy library' perfectly fine; I didn't need 'some fresh air.' And then, at the last minute after all that nagging, Ron decided to stay inside and play wizard chess." I huff out a breath.

Harry cracks a smile.

I pinch my lips. Of course Harry's smiling during a situation like this. "Come on, if Apparition's out of the question, we need to find a connection to the Floo Network."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I reckon the closest one is in the Three Broomsticks."

Not wasting another second, I yank on his sleeve. "Then let's go. The sooner we're gone, the sooner everyone here will be safe. After all, it's us they want."

We jog further into Hogsmeade.

Even with large plumes of smoke from the Forbidden Forest fouling the air, we find four wizards loitering outside of the Hog's Head.

Harry slashes his wand in the air to get their attention. "Hey! You there! You all need to leave and seek safety."

With his now torn and dirty robes, Harry looks a right mess, and I'm there next to him in the bedraggled department with my hair resembling an electrified poodle.

Still, the wizards soon realise who we are and scuttle off without incident. Being vanquishers of the worst Dark wizard in recent memory does have its perks.

Harry turns back to me. "We—" His eyes widen. He wraps his arms around me protectively and dives to the side.

A hunter-green line of smoke zooms past, missing us by mere inches. As the curse smashes into the shopfront of Dervish and Banges, I land hard with Harry's added weight on top of me.

Pushing Harry off me, I try to catch my breath. I groan. The back of my head throbs horribly, and I'm fairly certain I have, at least, a mild concussion.

As more curses fly in our direction, Harry and I scurry for cover into the partially destroyed shop. We crawl over busted wizarding equipment, such as Sneakoscopes and Remembralls, and hide behind a counter.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Merlin, we're trapped. We're so fucked unless help can get here in time.

"Any ideas?" Harry whispers to me.

No! Instead, I say, "Thinking. I'm thinking." Alright, what we need is a distraction… What would be the best distraction…

My eyes fly open when I hear the crunch of debris under heavy boots nearby. I clutch my wand tighter.

"Come out, come out, playtime's over," a smooth male voice taunts.

Another wizard laughs. "I don't know… I'm thinking things are only just beginning."

As they carry on at my and Harry's expense, I hate that I find myself listening to the first wizard's voice. The tone and cadence of it are undeniably sexy. It isn't as deep as Professor Snape's was, but it's still one that would make Rita Skeeter's articles sound appealing—and that's saying something.

Harry pats my shoulder for my attention and then points.

It takes me a second to find what he wants me to see. When I do, I shake my head vehemently. "No," I mouth.

Harry widens his eyes with exasperation. "Would you rather die here?" he mouths back.

As I think about it, he rolls his eyes. I watch him crawl away towards the pile of flying brooms lying on the floor, then sigh and follow.

Making my way on my hands and knees, I continue to contemplate what type of distraction would be best. A typical offensive spell like when we were first ambushed wouldn't cut it.

While Harry quickly checks to see if any of the brooms are operational, I notice the reflection of a red blob hurtling towards us in the display case above. Hastily, I cast a Shield Charm, protecting us from the raining shards of glass. Unfortunately, I also give our exact location away.

Harry shoves a broom at me. I grimace as I accept it, then mount it clumsily.

Need a distraction. Come on. Think! What's the one thing they wouldn't expect? I gasp when inspiration finally strikes.

"Ready," Harry whispers.

I nod.

With sharp, precise movements, I construct a curse of my own. This isn't going to be pretty—or pleasant. I inhale a deep breath. " _Ben Síde Comploratus._ "

"Now!" I shout.

The instant we kick off, a piercing wail fills the air. The Death Eaters get the brunt of the spell and fall to their knees. As they scream in pain and their faces contort with indescribable horror, blood seeps from their ears, noses, and eyes.

I feel a trickle of blood running down my upper lip and worriedly glace at Harry. He also has a bloody nose but, other than that, looks fine. I exhale in relief. However, my moment of calm is short lived when I notice the blurring ground beneath me.

I whimper and wrap my hands around the broomstick more firmly.

Every second that I climb higher and higher into the air, more and more terror crawls down my throat to weigh down my heart. Trying to keep my mind occupied, I focus on Harry who is three-broomsticks ahead.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't look down.  _Don_ ' _t_  look down," I mentally repeat to myself—but it does little good.

I hate flying. I  _hate_  it. The only thing truly innate about a person being in the sky is them succumbing to the force of gravity, plummeting to their untimely death.

Harry glances over his shoulder. When he sees me struggling, he slows down.

Over the strong wind, he yells, "Are you okay?"

I bob my head. But in fact, I'm not okay. I want to cry because I can sense how close to losing it I am.

Harry opens his mouth to say something more but instead closes it and frowns. He looks intently behind me.

I turn my head to see what he's staring at and spot five dark figures tearing towards us on brooms of their own.

"Go, go, go!" Harry shouts.

Swallowing hard, I pick up as much speed as I dare. The forest far below becomes a solid green smudge, and my hair stings my skin as it whips around my head. I groan with despair. Hogwarts still looks so far away.

A Killing Curse flies past my left side.

"Harry, look out!"

Harry effortlessly completes a loop to avoid the Unforgivable and, during the manoeuvre  _while_ upside down, manages to fire off a shot in return. I can't help but admire Harry's skill as a flyer and wish I shared it.

Needing to know how far the Death Eaters are behind us, I look over my shoulder. They're only about fifty feet away and closing in. With their billowing black robes, the Dark wizards could be mistaken for Dementors if not for the sunlight reflecting off their masks.

More curses zoom past.

I hate that Harry's having to defend the both of us, but my hands are glued to my broomstick. I do try to fly randomly from side to side so that I'm not a sitting duck.

When I make out the bright flags located around the Quidditch field, hope surges inside me. We're so close. Come on! Only a few more feet until we're safely behind Hog—.

"HERMIONE! WATCH OUT!"

Something impacts my back.

The next thing I know, I'm falling and falling and falling.

"HAARRRY!"

As the ground rushes towards me, full panic hits. All I can feel is terror. I can't breathe. I can't think.

"Nooo! Hermione!" I hear Harry yell faintly.

As I see more flashes of spells that narrowly miss me, sorrow and disgruntlement fill me. Dammit. This is how I'm going to die.

Feeling cold tears run into my hairline, I brace myself. A second later, I scream as agony rips into my back. Rotten luck. I can't just simply die. Fate has to throw a nasty Dark spell on top of it. I guess it's my own fault. Ron always did complain I was too much of an overachiever.

My vision wavers; things become muddled. For a brief time, I have a sense of absolute freedom. Something jerks me from behind, and then, thankfully, everything goes black.

* * *

"Miss Granger…"

I must be dreaming. I exhale a long, content breath. Everything's so nice and toasty, although the bed I'm on could be a tad more comfortable.

" _Miss Granger_."

I definitely am dreaming because Professor Snape is speaking to me, and I know for a fact that he's dead.

"Open your eyes, Miss Granger."

I do as Sounds-Like-Professor-Snape says. Once my vision adjusts, I let out a headache-inducing shriek.

Standing over me is…is… I'm not quite sure who he is, but he could easily pass for Professor Snape's brother: Professor Snape's mouth-watering, deliciously sexy brother.

I gape unattractively until I realise what I'm doing. "Uhhh, wh-who are you?"

He grins wickedly, revealing two worryingly sharp canines. "I'm Severus, a prince of the Sidhe," he sardonically says in a very Snape-like manner.

I stare at him dumbfounded. The Sidhe? As in the race also known as the High Elves? Prince  _is_  the maiden name of Severus Snape's mother, but this elf can't be him. Can he?

"Severus," I say weakly. "Not a very common name."

"No, it is not." He doesn't elaborate further.

"Ummm, do you have a surname?"

"Yes."

I huff. "What is it?"

"I think you already know, Miss Granger."

My mouth drops open. Impossible! Professor Snape's alive  _and_  an elven prince? "B-But how?"

He ignores me and asks, "What year is it?"

"Nineteen ninety-nine." I sweep my gaze across the room but can't discern where I am. It lacks the stone walls found in Hogwarts, and unless St Mungo's redecorated recently, I'm not there either.

"Professor"—he doesn't bat an eye at the title, further confirming his identity—" _please_ ,  _at least tell me where I am_ ," I stress every word, needing to know.

Professor Snape tilts his head to the side in thought. After a second of silence, he says, "You're at St Francis' Hospital." He fluidly lifts up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three. St Francis' Hospital? I don't recall a wizarding hospital by that name. Are we in the Muggle world?"

"No, we are in the High Realm."

I grit my teeth and fake a pleasant smile. "And where is the High Realm, sir?"

"The High Realm is not any one place, and only those who belong may enter."

Okaaay. Wait a minute. "But that would mean I belong. I find that hard to believe since I've never even heard of this 'High Realm' before. Why would I belong, and why do you look the way you do"—I gesticulate at his smouldering black eyes and elegantly pointed ears—"and why does this bloody bed feel so bleeding odd!"

Preferring not having to look at Professor Snape's smirking face for another second, I turn to see what's going on with my mattress.

My brows knit together. What in Merlin… No wonder my bed feels so strange; I'm lying on a giant pile of brown feathers. I flip my head to the other side, finding the same thing. Reaching out, I touch them, and they shiver in response. Did I just feel that? I do it again. Holy shit! I did!

I jump from the bed and gasp when a pair of wings  _protruding from my back_  extend and flutter. The left wing knocks the bedside table, causing a potion bottle filled with a purple liquid to shatter on the floor.

"Why do I have wings!" I touch my face, feeling relief when I don't encounter anything out of the ordinary. Then I catch sight of my hands and yelp when I see black talons emerging from my fingers. "What the fuck!" I yell, actually saying an expletive aloud instead of just in my head.

"Miss Granger, I need you to calm down."

A stunning woman with blood-red lips and a man with ram horns enter the room. Both are wearing Healer garb.

The woman lifts her hands in a placating gesture. "My lady, please return to the bed. You are still adjusting to your transmutation."

Transmutation? Transmutation! My eyes wildly search for my wand, but it's nowhere in sight. "What's happened to me! Did you do something to Harry, too? Where is he!"

"You needn't worry about Potter. He's fine. To answer your other question, you have…miraculously become a siren."

"A siren…" My mind automatically flips through my knowledge. In  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , sirens are stated as being the earliest race of merpeople. They are known for their beauty and natural talent of Sway, which allows them to control or influence others. Their affinities are air and water, and they manifest in a variety of ways. One such way is the appearance of their wings that take after those of an osprey, also known as a sea hawk, river hawk, and fish hawk.

I peer at my brown and grey-speckled wings. Remembering my time as a partial cat, I cringe. "Is it reversible? How is this even possible?  _Tell me_."

Professor Snape snorts and grins. "You were always quick on the uptake. That's twice now you've used your gift. Well, tried at least." He smiles smugly.

I stare at him incredulously, not sure what the bloody hell he was talking about.

He gestures for the Healers to back off, and they immediately obey.

"There's no going back," Professor Snape says with finality. "This isn't some accident; this is who you are now. The best analogy I can think of is that your near-death experience pushed you off the nest and, due to your magic and blood, allowed you to find your literal wings."

"My blood? But, Professor, how can that be? I'm a Muggle-born witch."

"No. Not anymore." He touches my cheek.

I groan at the intoxicating feel of his magic. Lost in its potency, I let him pull me closer.

"Now, Miss Granger, you're so much more. You're one of the High Realm, one of us… Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't weave through the foot traffic; it parts for me. Both men and women stare at me as I pass. Even with the large sunglasses and wide brim hat hiding my face, my presence draws their attention.

Humming an off-key tune, I hurry towards my desired destination. It would be nice if I could sing beautifully like the sirens in Homer's  _Odyssey_ ; however, the chance of that happening is highly unlikely without some major magical intervention. Like much Muggle lore about creatures, what's known about sirens is mostly rubbish.

When I'm about to reach the front doors of a huge steel-and-glass building, which in all honesty resembles a mammoth ice cube in my opinion, a man hurries in front of me to open the door.

"After you," he says pleasantly in German.

I remove my sunglasses and put them in my bag. I have no need to worry about being recognised since my magic can cloud the minds of others. When Harry first saw me after my transmutation, he didn't realise who I was until I introduced myself by name. It's a very useful ability when it comes to avoiding nosey reporters now that I've got a handle on it.

Giving the man a cordial smile, I say, "Danke."

He gets a stunned look on his face and swallows hard.

I rush past so that he doesn't melt into a puddle of goo at my feet. Even though humans have nothing to worry about from me, they are naturally more susceptible to my magic than wizardkind.

Once inside, I take in the space. I've never been to this particular art museum before. The entrance lobby is mostly windows and polished concrete. A feature wall in a bold blue is on the right, and shelves on it hold various white sculptures of flora and fauna. The murmur of voices gets lost in the airy space similar in size to the Great Hall. On the ceiling, a mural creates the illusion that the four-storey room is taller than it is and has no ceiling at all.

I glimpse the vibrant artwork further inside and sigh, chiding myself that I'm here to meet someone for work, not on holiday.

I walk to one of the empty tables on the left side of the room and select a chair where I can enjoy the view outside. Before sitting down, I remove my cream wool coat and lay it on the chair next to me.

Those around me overtly stare as I sit. I can't blame it on pure rudeness or my natural allure. The emerald-green jumpsuit I'm wearing with its plunging neckline would bowl my own mother over if she saw me right now.

Lifting my lunch from my bag, I smile. Yum. Recently, I found this hidden gem in Tokyo that makes the tastiest bento boxes. Inside mine are all my favourites: fresh salmon sashimi, grilled octopus, copious sheets of crunchy nori, and rice.

Since becoming a siren, I can only eat things that come from a body of water. When I discovered I could stomach rice grown in flooded fields, I literally cried tears of joy. It's taken some time getting used to, and I miss ice cream terribly, but I make do.

However, it was easier for me to accept life as a devout, fish-loving pescetarian than it was for me to embrace my siren blood. Sirens are nearly extinct; there's only three of us in the entire world. We are the mother-species of all merpeople and are considered royalty. To merpeople, I am a princess, and in the High Realm, I am a high-ranking member of the Court. It took many years for me to wrap my head around everything. But with time, I have.

Now, I accept all of me. I don't fight my curls anymore; I accentuate them. I love how my shiny, voluminous ringlets frame my face. I love my body and dare to wear clothes that show it off. And I love my quick mind and sharp tongue and never apologise for either. I only wish I could find someone to love, as well. But…it's difficult to find the time to date when one has to live a double life.

I stuff the last rectangle of nori into my mouth, and it crunches as I chew. Licking off my salt-covered fingers, I stare outside. People sitting on the lawn talk and laugh. The clouds above roll past with the light autumn breeze, changing the shadow patterns below. It really is a lovely day.

I begin to pack up my things, having decided it would be better and more enjoyable to wait outside.

Once I'm sitting on a bench next to the pavement, I remove the  _Journal of Arithmancy and Other Numerical Findings_  from my bag. I read for a while, then notice something when a certain man passes. I jump to my feet.

"Entschuldigen Sie bitte," I politely call out for his attention. "Did you drop this?" I continue fluently in German.

I stand from my bent position and open my palm, revealing a Galleon.

While the man looks down at the coin with the same amount of surprise that's on my own face, I study him. The first thing I notice is he smells strongly of cologne and coffee. His attire is cut in such a way that it passes for human but, on closer inspection, screams wizardkind. His overall appearance exudes wealth and an aristocratic air. He could easily get away with wearing a top hat and a monocle if he wanted and rock it.

"Oh," the man frowns, "thank you." He accepts the coin and then glances at the journal in my other hand. His eyebrows shoot up. "Arithmancy?" He grins with delight as his eyes openly admire me. "You're a witch."

I beam at him. "Yes." Among other things.

He offers his hand. "I'm Heinrich von Degenhard."

I take it, and we shake. "Jean Smith." Yes, it's a most uninspired alias, but Smith is both a Muggle and a pure-blood surname, so it's a fitting choice.

"Your German is very good, Frau Smith."

I blush demurely at his praise. "Danke, I'm visiting from England for my job. That's why I'm here." I point at the museum. "I've been waiting for a client."

"Client? Are you an artist?"

I smile and bite my plump bottom lip. "Of a sort."

For a few minutes, we chat, comparing notes on where we've travelled and places we want to visit.

Herr von Degenhard checks his pocket watch and grimaces.

"Frau Smith, I wish we could converse longer," he looks genuinely regretful, "but I'm expected at a meeting of my own. Will you be free later? I'd love to talk some more." His eyes dart to my cleavage. "Maybe you would be interested in discussing Gunther's new formula with me."

I grin at him. I do love a wizard who keeps  _abreast_  of the latest Arithmancy theory, I think dryly.

"Meet me here in three hours?" he suggests.

I hesitate before saying, "Sounds like a date."

With a broad grin, he nods and leaves with a swagger.

I feel a thrill run down my back and smile.

* * *

_Ding dong_.

As I wait, I regard the view of a lake through a cascade of out-of-season wisteria. In the distance, I can see other grand properties elbowing each other for their spot around the picturesque locale.

I hear the muffled sound of a house-elf Apparating through the glass doors and turn to face the entrance. Wizardkind finds it difficult to discern between female and male house-elves, but as a siren, I know instinctively that the house-elf is female.

It takes her a moment to realise what I am, but once she does, she quickly opens the door and invites me in.

The house-elf bows low. "My lady, what can Linty be doing for you?"

I smile warmly at her. House-elves are wondrous creatures; the power of their wandless magic is truly astounding when one thinks about it. "Hello, Linty. I need to speak with Herr Heinrich von Degenhard. Would you please let him know Frau Jean Smith is here?"

"Yes, my lady. Linty will tell Master Heinrich."

Linty pops away.

After a few minutes of waiting, I hear the faint tap of leather-soled shoes on the marble floor.

I steel myself as Herr von Degenhard appears from around a corner.

The instant we make eye contact, he scowls. Herr von Degenhard walks faster, his displeasure clear.

When he reaches me, his face looks as if he's licked a slug.

"Frau Smith, I'm stunned that you would show your face to me after standing me up. How is it you're here? Only my most trusted associates know of this residence."

"I know. I feel dreadful about missing our date." But not really. "My meeting changed locations and went longer than expected, and I couldn't send word. At the end of our meeting, my client noticed my distress and asked me what was wrong. I explained, and she informed me as to whom you were. I'm embarrassed to say I had no idea. Fortunately, she attended your last… _soirée_ "—his eyes heat up with cruelty and lust—"and could relay where you lived, and so here I am. I didn't want you thinking…" My eyes prickle, and I swallow hard.

"Frau Smith, no worries, no worries. I understand how meetings sometimes go. Please," he offers his arm and smiles, a predatory glint in his eyes, "won't you come in."

I smile gratefully at him and accept his arm. "Thank you."

As we walk, he and I chat about light topics until we enter a private sitting room. When I hear him close the door, a pleased chuckle escapes my lips.

He takes a step towards me.

" _Be still_ ," I say

For a few seconds, he fights my Sway. He is an exceptionally powerful wizard, after all, but that's the extent of it. Eventually, he succumbs. The instant he does, I sense his magic flow towards me, and when my magic latches on to it, a loud, throaty moan erupts from him.

I place my hands on his hips, letting myself enjoy the sensation of his magic; however, what I'm experiencing isn't nearly as intense as what he's experiencing. Right now, he feels whole, like he's found his other half. His body feels more alive than it ever has as my magic sends signals to his hypothalamus to release a constant stream of dopamine.

I, on the other hand, feel as though I'm drinking a lovely cup of tea: warm, pleasant, and relaxing.

I place my left hand on Herr von Degenhard's face. "You've been a very naughty and slippery Dark wizard." I slide my hand downwards. "Thank you ever so very much for leading me straight to you." From his pocket, I pull out the Galleon I gave him earlier and smile.

"I do believe we will indeed be having a nice, long visit. Shall we get comfortable?  _Go_  s _it on the settee and don't move until I say otherwise_."

He does as I bid. After I remove my coat and set it and my bag down on an empty spot on the settee, I join him.

I notice a wet spot on Herr von Degenhard's lap. At first, I think he's wet himself, but at second glance, I realise he's climaxed. That's unusual. My magic hasn't ever triggered that reflex. All I can assume is that he must secretly enjoy being bossed around. I chuckle.

" _Now_ ,  _tell me about any nefarious activities you and your merry band of dunderheads have been up to this past month_."

As he speaks, I do not react to the cruelties he's committed against humans and wizardkind. They are not the main reason why I'm here. I can tell he's purposely speaking at length, so I narrow my line of questioning.

"…High Realm…"

The moment I hear Herr von Degenhard say those two words, he seals his fate. I sigh.

"Who else knows?" I ask him.

"Only those here with me."

"How many?"

"About a handful."

" _Tell me how many_ exactly?

He comes again and groans, "Six."

"Thank you." I lightly caress his cheek with my left hand.

Out of sight, I extend the talons of my right hand. Although Herr von Degenhard surely deserves it for all of the atrocities he's committed, I don't make it a point to cause him any fear. As quick as the Wild Hunt, I slash his throat.

Blood spurts onto me and across the room, spattering onto the furniture, floor, and nearby wall.

My soul sings; it sings with victory and satisfaction. I can't stop myself from moaning as I consume his magic; it's utterly sublime: rich and the most potent I've ever had.

After a few minutes, his heart finally beats its last, and his brain no longer sparks.

Panting, I shut my eyes.

Do I feel guilty about what I've done, about what I'm capable of doing? When I first learnt of the extent of my siren abilities and needs, I did. In fact, I was physically ill because of it. Now, however, I see things differently. I won't go as far as calling wizardkind 'weak-bloods' as some in the High Realm do; I refuse to dehumanise others so that I can create an emotional buffer, but neither will I ignore what I am.

I am a siren, a predator, and I have as much a right to live as any other creature. I  _must_  hunt, or I will die. It's harsh and cruel and not pretty, but it's my reality.

I gather myself and stand. As I retract my talons, I hear the door open.

My blessed luck. I make it a point not to use magic so that I don't trigger any detection charms, and still, the bottom drops out.

A wizard steps into the room. "My lord, I apologise for interrupting."

First, he notices the new bloody accents decorating the room, not blinking an eye at them, but then he sees the body of his lord.

His horrified gasp sounds as loud as a tolling bell in my mind. I swear Harry's proclivity for things going to shit transferred to me after the war. This year I might make good on my promise and give each of his children a drum set  _and_  a violin for Christmas. I know for certain it would be music to my ears whenever I visited. My lips curl into a grin.

With his wand, the wizard triggers the alarm and rushes inside, ending my amusing thought.

It seems I'm going to have to wing it—both figuratively and literally. Here it goes. " _Stop_ ," I command, releasing my wings.

His eyes dilate.

I grab my bag and coat. " _You want to come to me_."

With an expression of bliss, he follows my order without any resistance.

" _Point your wand at your lord and don't move_." I use my wings to leap clear across the room.

Not even a second after I'm pressed against the wall next to the door, four wizards and one witch rush in.

The wizard at the front of the group yells, "Brandt, what the fuck happened!"

I wait until they move further into the room and then shout, "Oi! Over here!" in good old English.

They turn as one stupid organism, all eyes on me: no challenge at all.

I want to sigh in exasperation but don't; instead, I say, " _Kill each other_   _until none are left standing_."

As I stride off, flashes of green fill the room behind me, one right after the other.

My body glows ethereally from the surge of magic each death brings me. I know if I walked out into the human world right now, they would mistake me for a goddess or an angel—I glance down at my bloody appearance—well, maybe Enyo, a goddess of war, or Samael the Angel of Death.

I retrieve my wand from my bag. " _Tergeo_."

When I reach the vestibule, I stop. There's one last thing I must do.

"Linty!" I call.

 _Pop_!

Linty wipes tears away from her face with her large ears. "Yes, my lady."

I kneel so that I'm eye level with her. "Linty, I'm sorry I had to kill your Source."

Linty begins to sob. "W-What is Linty to do?"

"How long has this been your household?"

"Thirty years, my lady."

Like many creatures of the High Realm, house-elves, also known as brownies, have evolved to have a symbiotic relationship with wizardkind. Without a Source, a magical link to Earth, their magic will ultimately overwhelm them, transforming them into boggarts. This little-known fact about the High Realm was one of many eye-opening things I learnt after my transmutation.

I gently take Linty's hand. "You don't have to fear about finding another Source. Laws have been passed in the wizarding world to protect you. All you need to do is go to the House-elves Placement Office in London. Speak with Faunus Sampo. He'll find you a new household."

"Ohhh, thank you, thank you, my lady." Linty wraps her spindly arms around me.

I hug her back and smile. "You're welcome." I stand and then take a step back. "Safe journeys, Linty."

"Safe journeys, my lady."

The air displacement of Linty's silent departure brushes against my skin, and I smile.

Assignment complete. My shoulders relax. Another possible threat to the High Realm has been eliminated. It's time to return home.

But no, I wouldn't be utilising my wings to do so. With a thought, I quickly conceal my feathery appendages. I may be able to reveal and retract them on command, but I'm still very terrified of flying, even more so now than before my near brush with death a decade ago. Now, if someone were to hand me a broom, I'd likely beat them with it.

I no longer Apparate, either. Apparition is quite limiting when it comes to long-distance trips anyway. Portkeys and the Floo Network are also not the most pleasant modes of magical transportation.

Instead, I am now able to Fade; I let myself transition from Earth to the High Realm and vice versa, if need be. It's as easy and natural as inhaling and exhaling a long breath and is an ability only allowed to those of the High Realm. It also allows me to travel nearly anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye.

Concentrating on my desired destination, darkness begins to bleed into my vision. A second later, I'm standing in a hallway inside the High Council Knoll, which houses the main governing bodies of the High Realm.

To those outside of the High Realm, I am merely an employee of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They think I suffer from a 'malady' I acquired after my broom accident, and that it's the reason why I've continued to drudge in the department rather than seek promotion.

In actuality, I am a secret agent for the High Realm and, when required, a skilled assassin. My highest priority is to protect this hidden society of brilliant creatures. It's quite the challenge because the High Realm isn't located in any one place. Regardless of whether a creature lives in the sky, ocean, or in the deepest of caves, they are in the High Realm, the world where all mythology is born.

If a wizard were to look at a tree inhabited by a creature such as a dryad, it would seem to him like he was looking at any other tree, but in truth, the tree wouldn't be of the Earth at all; it would be of the High Realm. Creatures bring the High Realm to Earth where ever they are; they bring pure, unfiltered Magic. Earth has no intrinsic magic of its own; either a person is born with it, or it comes from the High Realm.

Some creatures are able to exist solely by syphoning magic from the High Realm. Others, such as me, are not so fortunate. We must balance our magical link to the High Realm with magic filtered through the Earth. If we don't, the magic of the High Realm will overtake and devour us: thus, the necessity of wizardkind. Wizardkind are vessels of diluted magic, and with no link to additional magic, they are limited in their potential.

There are those in the High Realm who see wizardkind as nothing but foolish children, while others see them as nothing more than food—that was until Voldemort. He somehow learnt of the High Realm and, during the last war, almost breached it.

After Voldemort, the High Council could no longer dismiss wizardkind. Wizards or witches deemed high-risk are now monitored. Harry is my oldest friend, and I hate having to spy on him, but he is one of the most powerful wizards in the world. As one of the High Realm, it is my duty to protect it, even at the possible cost of a friendship.

I come to a stop at the door at the end of the hallway and knock.

"Come in," I hear from inside.

I turn the doorknob and enter.

There, looking like a dark prince from a fairy tale sits my boss, Severus Snape, a powerful Sidhe nobleman. He's a Dioano Sidhe to be exact, or what humans would call a warrior elf. In addition to his wand, he openly carries an elegant elven sword at his hip. His lithe body also hides a multitude of knives and daggers—or so I've been told.

He has the same colour and length of hair I remember from my Hogwarts days, but it's no longer oily and unappealing. It's the exact opposite, actually. It looks so inviting I have the urge to climb onto his desk and run my fingers through the thick, black strands.

"Miss Granger, how was your visit to Germany? Did you sample any of the country's offerings like I suggested?"

Everyone except for Severus addresses me by 'my lady' or, if I know them well, uses my first name. But considering what I call him, it's understandable why.

Taking a seat across from him, I smile lopsidedly and shrug. He's well aware I rarely sleep around and never on a job. Still, he encourages me to embrace my sensual side as a siren. "You know me, Professor."

He sighs. "Yes, regretfully I do."

I scowl good-naturedly.

Severus' lips twitch. "Miss Granger, all work and no play makes Jane a dull girl."

"And all play and no work makes Jane a mere toy." I raise my eyebrows. " _Tell me_ , _Professor_ , _do you want me to be a mere plaything_?"

Severus' eyes heat up as my Sway wraps around his mind. He opens his mouth, blinks, and then cracks a smile. "Nice try."

"I almost had you that time."

He smiles wider, showing his sharp, pearly whites. "Not even close."

I harrumph.

Severus gets down to business. "You're here to report?"

"Yes, sir." I proceed to summarise what happened with Herr von Degenhard.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger, as usual."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me yet. Word has come from above that we have a lead on a Top Priority."

My heartbeat speeds up with excitement at the prospect of a new hunt. "Who?"

"Rabastan Lestrange."

"Rabastan Lestrange?" After escaping from Azkaban, Lestrange has been the wizarding world's Undesirable No. 1, but he's only ever been on the High Realm's watch list. "Why is he now a Top Priority?"

Severus steeples his fingers. "There has been a rash of creature killings around the world. It's believed he knows something about them or is, in fact, responsible. The only thing the victims have in common is that they are of mid-status in the Court. I need you to learn what he knows."

As my talons itch wanting to extend, I ask, "What of afterwards: dead or alive?"

Severus leans back in his chair and smiles. "Dead."


	3. Chapter 3

I walk along a worn cobblestone street lined with Muggle construction equipment. It looks as if someone has angrily knocked over a glass of pumpkin juice across the city skyline, giving the pavement and surrounding buildings a warm glow.

I make my way past a group of tourists chatting away in English, many of them wearing 'Niagara Falls, Canada' T-shirts under their jackets. One girl tries to ask me a question in wretchedly pronounced French, but I ignore her, needing to keep pace with Lestrange who's half-a-block ahead.

It took me over two weeks to find Lestrange, much longer than usual for me. In that time, he's killed five more creatures: two vampire merchants, two well-known nymph musicians, and a werewolf Beta. Lestrange has already proven more of a challenge than any of my past targets. I'm quite curious to see if the trend continues, but I won't allow it at the cost of more High-Realm lives.

During my investigation, I've learnt that Lestrange has been calling himself Eyas Rosier. Every few weeks, he has moved to a different country in an attempt to remain undiscovered. His alias is what tipped me off. A surname not in the Pure-Blood Directory would have served him better. Like with most Dark wizards, his pride would be his downfall.

Lestrange disappears around a corner.

I curse and sprint forwards, manoeuvring around pedestrians as best I can.

As I turn the corner, I slam into a hard, muscled body. " _Oof_." I take a step back. "Pardon."

I'm not a short woman, but I have to crane my neck to see whom I've crashed into.

Whom I find is Rabastan Lestrange gazing down at me. His brows are up, and a smirk graces his mouth. I hate to admit it, but he looks good. Okay, better than good. Alright, fine. He looks gorgeous. He's wearing olive trousers and a white Oxford shirt with a casual-but-stylish, violet-blue coat. His dark hair is a little too long, and a few strands fall over his eyes and ears. His irises are amber with flecks of gold, and his hawkish nose completes the picture of him resembling a bird of prey.

For a second, I lament over my task. It will be such a shame and waste having to kill such a clever and attractive man, but needs must.

" _Follow me_ ," I order.

His smirk widens, and I frown. On his face, he has the unsettling look of a raptor that's been triumphant in nabbing its dinner. If he thinks the wand in his hand will save him, he's wrong. I return his arrogant expression with one of my own.

"We meet again, my little pullet"—I narrow my eyes at him for calling me a young female chicken—"It was quite a sight to see those wings of yours sprout from your back all those years ago. Been wearing this ever since." He pulls something from underneath his shirt and then taps his temple.

I take a closer look and see a small glass ball filled with water hanging from a silver chain. An air bubble inside it shifts with his movements. Fuck a duck. Water and air are my affinities. He must be wearing a charm against the Sway of a siren. This poses a huge challenge. The Canadian Ministry has strict laws against using magic in Muggle areas, so using my wand is out. I'm left with only one workable solution.

As Lestrange drops the charm back behind his shirt, I attack with superhuman strength and speed, aiming my fist at his head. Lestrange doesn't avoid my hit, but he does move quick enough to not get knocked out as I intended. I ignore the concerned yells from nearby onlookers and immediately strike out with my foot. Lestrange dances out of the way and uses my momentum against me.

An instant later, I find myself on the pavement with him on top of me. As I struggle to gasp in a breath, his fist makes contact with my face, busting my lip.

I freeze when I feel the tip of his wand digging into my stomach. Lestrange is a fugitive and has nothing to lose, but I can't just Fade and escape. If he just wanted me dead, I'd already have found myself getting chummy with a Killing Curse. No, he wants something from me. I have to at least try to learn what that is and complete my mission.

I make a show of struggling and say, "Get off me, you disgusting Death Eater scum."

Lestrange nuzzles at my neck and then whispers into my ear, "Now, now, pretty ducking, that's no way for a lady to act."

Gooseflesh rises on my body from the continued sensation of his breath on my skin. Feeling his weight on me, one part of me wants to gut him with my talons, consequences be damned, but another part of me wants to purr. He's succeeded in dominating me into my current predicament. Against all reason, my instincts and body approve.

I close my eyes as his lips tease my cheek. I want him…but I've wanted to bed others and refrained. Lestrange would be no different.

He lifts his head until his mouth is only an inch away from my own. In silence, we stare at each other.

I undulate my body with a slow stretch, springing my trap. "Fuck…you," I hiss.

Lestrange's eyes flash. "You sound quite eggy, love. I know exactly what will cure your sour mood: a nice, long kip. Sweet dreams…"

I brace myself, my last thought being that the richness of his voice alone could ease me into slumber.

" _Stupefy_."

* * *

My face throbs, and I groan. Why couldn't I have the ability of super healing? It would be far more useful than the pair of overly large feather dusters attached to my back. I open my eyes, needing to squint. Overhead, I see a light fixture lit with electricity and not candles. I frown.

"Rise and shine, pretty puffling."

Looking around, I find I'm lying on a settee with my wrists restrained in front of me with wizarding shackles. Then I spot Lestrange. He's lounging on a nearby cushioned armchair, idly rolling his wand between his fingertips. I glare at him.

"Stop referring to me by words used for the young of varying bird species," I demand, causing him to smirk. "Where are we?"

"Now, now, owlet, you don't think I would be foolish enough to take you where someone in the wizarding world might notice. Your kind has always been like pests; if there's one, then there's likely more scurrying about."

I grit my teeth. He's such an aggravating man. At least, I can infer we're still in the Muggle world. If he uses any Dark magic, the Canadian authorities would be here within minutes.

"I didn't ask for your opinion about what  _I_  think, but now that you've brought it up, yes, I do think you're foolish, exceedingly so, as well as mind-bogglingly chauvinistic. If you don't want to tell me where I am, then tell me why I'm here."

"Hmm, 'owlet'…" Lestrange says, completely ignoring me. "Now that's my favourite so far. What do you think? Should I keep it or continue? There are so many catchy possibilities:  _squealer_ "—he raises a suggestive eyebrow—"flapper, jenny…"

As Lestrange prattles on like a mad hatter, I contemplate what I should do next. One idea, in particular, persistently bounces around in my head. If I'm successful, I'll learn everything I need to know, but things could also blow up in my face, spectacularly. It's my own maddening curiosity that decides things. I sit up.

Lestrange instantly becomes more alert.

"Well, if you don't want to answer any questions about me, maybe you'll answer questions about you." I stand, and he casually aims his wand at me. I glide towards him, sensuously swaying my hips with each step. "I've always wondered. How did you escape Azkaban? You're an unregistered Animagus, aren't you?"

Lestrange grins charmingly. "No, darling, I'm not an Animagus… I'm just that good."

I snort.

His expression turns hard. "You, on the other hand, little owlet, are nothing but a Mudblood that needs to learn her place."

His eyes widen when I straddle his lap and place my shackled wrists behind his neck. My knit dress bunches, revealing the smooth flesh of my thighs. Lestrange jabs his wand into my side, but I pay it no mind.

"That's where you're wrong, Lestrange… The blood that runs through my veins is ancient; I'm beyond you. I'm above you." I lean in and whisper into his ear, "I am a seducer of men, and  _death_  is my food of choice. You are mine to do with as I wish."

Lestrange tries to act unaffected, but his dilated eyes give him away. "Is that so, my caged, little owlet." His eyes flicker to my breasts peeking out from my V-neckline. My nipples are erect and easily discernible. He leers. "And what is it you wish?

I smile. "Are you in the business of granting wishes, Lestrange." I slowly gyrate my hips.

He parts his lips and exhales a harder breath. "Perhaps…"

Lestrange lifts his wand and drags it down my cheek, stopping on top of my mouth. " _Episkey_."

Fire then ice rolls over my face. I smile. The pain I felt earlier is gone.

Him healing my split lip brings my attention to his mouth. His bottom lip is plumper than the top one, but his mouth isn't too pouty; it's masculine with a touch of mischievousness. It's lovely. I've never had to kiss anyone on a job; I've always managed to avoid it. This time, though, I wouldn't be able to and…I must confess I'm glad.

I lean forwards. Lestrange's left hand tangles into the back of my curls while his wand presses into the junction between my jaw and neck. Our lips chastely touch for the barest of moments, and then we're desperate for one another. We open our mouths, frantically tasting and learning. He tastes of bitter spirits and star anise. I slide my tongue along his teeth, and they're perfectly straight, dull, and human. Moaning, I rub my softer curves against the hardness of his fit body. It's intoxicating.

It requires all my willpower to focus. The High Realm keeps its secrets well-guarded, and I'll be using one such secret to my advantage. While our tongues battle for dominance, I tap my link to the High Realm and flood my shackles with magic.

Finally, the charms on my restraints buckle under the pressure. I feel my powers as a witch return to me and sigh.

Lestrange removes his hand from my hair and grabs my bum, pushing my centre harder against his arousal. A loud moan escapes from my mouth. I moan again, but this time, I also concentrate on one word:  _Alohomora_.

The tightness around my wrists eases. I wait for a moment to see if Lestrange heard the shackles unlocking over my sound of pleasure. He does pause, but it's to gasp in a breath. He then takes my tongue into his mouth and sucks. It's heaven. I feel myself grow wetter.

Ever so carefully, I locate the clasp of the silver chain hanging from his neck. Then I do as I did with the shackles and pour magic into it. A second later, I sense something snapping back into place and grin as a new excitement languidly stretches inside me.

We're both breathing hard when I break away.

I gaze into his eyes. " _Drop your wand_."

Lestrange's eyes widen. "How…"

As my magic licks at his, the digging pain underneath my jaw disappears. His magic and will are strong…but not strong enough. Our magic fully connects, and we gasp. A second later, I hear the clatter of his wand landing on the floor.

He's mine.

" _Lestrange_ ,  _answer my questions truthfully_ …  _Why are you killing notable creatures in the wizarding world_?"

Lestrange's eyes pinch close. He shakes his head violently. Opening his eyes, Lestrange grits his teeth. "Noooo…" He groans. "I…want to finish…the Dark Lord's work." He fights every word.

"What work would that be?"

His body shudders and then relaxes as he gives into the influence of my Sway. "To reclaim our birthright. To take the High Realm for wizardkind."

I exhale a heavy breath. "So pointless… Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, was defeated once and for all. Why would you continue to follow the ravings of such a lunatic?"

Lestrange frowns. "It's…all I've known. It gives me purpose."

"There must be something else… If not weighed down by the past, what else would you want to do?"

Lestrange's eyes darken. "I'd want to plunge my cock into your tempting half-breed cunt. I'd want one try to fuck you before you gut me like the others I've learnt about."

His hands follow the curves of my body, coming to a stop at my waist. "Salazar," his face twists as if he were in pain, "I hate that you're so fucking beautiful. I hate that I've wanted you for as long as I have."

I stare at him feeling entirely dumbstruck and painfully aroused. He actually wants to shag  _me_. "But…I thought you wanted to kill me for some reprehensible purpose. Don't you?"

"Yes…no…" Lestrange gnashes his teeth. "I don't know."

Lestrange is as good as dead. He knows about the High Realm; he must be eliminated but… I bite my bottom lip. What would a few more minutes hurt? I have the upper hand now that I have access to my Sway. He's also unaware that I've unlocked the shackles and can free my hands at any time. And it has been  _years_ since I've come across a man that's really caught my eye.

I lick my lips. "Alright."

"Alright, what?"

"You may shag me…if that's what you want." Merlin, I'm supposed to be an apex predator and seductress, but I'm acting more like a bumbling idiot.

Lestrange narrows his eyes. "You'd let me fuck you?"

Instead of answering him, I close my eyes and softly press my lips against his.

"Fuck…" he breathes, tightening his hold.

We resume our earlier wild snog; this time with me not needing to split my attention. I let myself sink into Lestrange's warmth, falling deeper and deeper.

Lestrange's hands tug on the gathered fabric of my dress. He lifts it and groans when he feels the smooth expanse of my buttocks. "Fucking Merlin…no knickers…" As his hands move, they seem to scorch me, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Lestrange slowly slides my dress higher until he exposes my bare breasts. Almost reverently, he places kisses on the soft mounds. He then guides my dress off my head and down my arms until it can go no further. Wanting to bury my fingers into his hair, I'm incredibly tempted to rip off the shackles and fabric bunched around my hands.

He slips a hand between my legs and moans. "You're so wet… Sweet Salazar, you're dripping down your thighs."

I whimper when Lestrange delves his fingers into my folds. He glides around my silky flesh, teasing my nerve endings before bringing his hand to his mouth.

Staring at me hungrily, he sucks and savours every digit. "You taste clean…like the sea. I could feast on you for hours."

I can't take it anymore. "Please…" I grind my core against him.

Lestrange shuts his eyes and chuckles. "As my owlet wishes."

We both raise our hips so he can lower his trousers and pants. I salivate. I'm quite impressed with what's revealed: Lestrange is well-endowed and glistening from arousal. I now understand his sentiment about wanting to know my taste because, right now, I want to lick off the new drop of pre-cum on the tip of his cock.

Lestrange positions himself at my opening and waits. I'm surprised he does, but he doesn't have to wait long. With no hesitation, I lower myself onto him.

When the head of his cock enters me, we both moan. We watch each other as I take more of him into me. As Lestrange stretches and fills me, I feed off the pleasure on his face, and he feeds off mine.

We quickly build an aggressive pace. He feels so good inside me. I kiss and suck at his neck, inhaling deep breaths of his scent. His head falls back onto the ball of fabric encasing my hands, giving me easier access.

All too soon, I'm close, but I can't stand it anymore. I need to feel more of him.

I yank off the shackles and free my hands from my dress. Then I rip away Lestrange's shirt exposing prison tattoos and deliciously hot skin.

Lestrange moans. "That's it, love," he says between hard breaths. "Feel me. Ride me."

Merlin… I let out a harsh exhale. "Oh, fuck!" I'm unable to say another word as I come apart. Pleasure lights up every inch of my body. It's too much.

My wings burst into being behind me as my talons fully elongate.

"Fuck, yes," Lestrange growls, thrusting harder.

My talons scratch across his upper back, marking him. I feel so alive: a creature of sex and power.

Lestrange stares at me with wonder, and his movements grow erratic. "Fuck…I'm…I'm going to fill your cunt with my pure-blood seed." His hold becomes bruising. "Yes…" he moans loud and gutturally, letting himself spill inside me.

I grin victoriously. I gain no magic from his release, but I do gain something else. During the few seconds that Lestrange is lost in the crashing sensations of his climax, I'm not a Mudblood or a half-breed; I'm a woman, and he's a man, and we're equal partners in a dance the predates even the High Realm.

Lestrange grabs my face and crushes our lips together, expertly drawing another moan from me.

On second thought, Lestrange has aptly renamed himself. Rosier is the name of the fallen angel who is considered the patron demon of tainted love and seduction. It fits him perfectly.

Lestrange reaches down and rubs circles on my clit. I sigh with pleasure, and he grins.

What are a few minutes more?

" _Get hard for me_."

Lestrange's eyes grow large just as his lower extremity does.

I laugh softly, kissing and touching him.

For the rest of the night, we continue our dance, again and again, letting the worries of both our worlds drift away, at least for a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, browse my other [works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofSD/pseuds/ladyofsilverdawn/works).


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